Every shadow is of the sun

Every shadow is of the sun.A buzzard, spinning in the eddies,Haunts a birdlike piece of ground,Where dandelions shake.A mile away, on the world’s skirts,Nightmare machines quiver unseen,And the earth is scarred by the shapes of men.

Every shadow is of the sun.The lighthouse-keeper’s yellow dogBarks at his reflection,And the spectres in the fog.They speak Morse code, and comeTo beg his pardon, and to askWhy the ghost-moon wastes his wax.

Every shadow is of the sun.The violent bloom that burns my maskRips my shape from end to endAnd paints my likeness on the grass.That steals the essence of treesLight-locks the staring homesAnd paints a pattern on the world’s bones.